Swoon Worthy
by Oh. Blimey
Summary: James Potter does not posses a single quality that could ever merit a swoon. And he is definitely up to no good..or at least that's what she told herself when she followed him out in the pouring rain. Definitely up to no good. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

James Potter did not posses a single quality worthy of a swoon.

He didn't have those amazing kind of eyes you could get lost in. The kind that made your insides sear with fire and melt helplessly every time they met your own. (Which she didn't think was that great of a feat anyway. If you drank enough of it, Butterbeer could accomplish something very similar.). Actually, there wasn't anything exceptionally grand about his eyes in the least. Loads of people had hazel eyes… that were actually a deep _bronze_ when you _really_ looked into them. She could name ten people off the top of her head with the very same kind. That is—If she felt like it, which she didn't.

His hair wasn't the soft kind either. It didn't matter how silky it felt when her hand had accidentally brushed it in transfiguration last Thursday because she knew it was really coarse and brittle and utterly untamable. Untamable in a _bad way _too. Not in that wild way that might have made her want to weave her hands deep within its messy, silky strands and pull his face oh-so-closer to her own... _Never_ in a million eons would that thought cross her mind, thank Merlin. On the _contrary_, she'd take Severus Snape's greasy locks over his hair any day.

It was really too dark a hair for her taste anyway, so unsettling a shade of black that she often likened it to the color of soot (…and occasionally the night sky). The deep tone had a peculiar way of contrasting his fair skin so strikingly that it could make her stomach turn sometimes… in distaste.

She had never considered his to be jaw sensually masculine, like the many of the bathroom wall's in Hogwarts read… just slightly prominent… Even more so when he clenched it in a moment of frustration. It happened often when they fought. She knew he had a particularly short temper when it came to her, but she would absolutely never take advantage of that to provoke him purposefully… if just to see it tighten for a moment… Now that was just silly. Honestly. The way it arched _did not_ radiate an aura of strength and power, but something far less breathtaking. She couldn't quite put a name on in yet, but when she did, it would be something very feminine.

It was a good thing there was absolutely nothing special about that jaw, or else she might've found herself haunted with the unsettling urge to brush her fingers over it… just to see if it would tense under her touch…the way it did when they fought...

A _very_ good thing, indeed.

She could lawfully say there were never any nights when his lips plagued her dreams. She had never dreamt of kissing him only to start awake with a heart half in her throat and a stomach full of acrobatic butterflies. That would be simply unheard of. His lips weren't even nearly perfect. In the left corner of his top lip there was a small white scar that happened to completely throw off their symmetry, she told herself, not add deliciously to their appeal. She had never asked about it. Not because she didn't have the nerve though, she just didn't care enough.

She loathed his lips the most when they were curved; the secretive smiles, mischievous smirks, and obnoxious grins drove her crazy. She didn't know why. She couldn't explain it. They just did.

He was insufferable and incorrigible. He _wasn't_ so handsome it hurt. Quidditch _hadn't_ done his body good. He _didn't_ make her laugh in a way she didn't even know she could. He was _never_ loyal, or brave, or chivalrous…

He was not a swoon-worthy person period.

And it was the rain making her tremble, she told herself, not his hands at her waist, not his tall lean form pressed up against hers. He didn't affect her like _that…_ and yet, the castle wall at her back was the only thing that stopped her from falling over completely.

Fine, so she hated him so much she was shaking uncontrollably. That was plausible.

Lily closed her eyes shut against his stare. She could hardly breathe like this.

She hadn't really meant to follow him out of the castle. She had been leaving the library when she'd seen him… striding with such great purpose, his eyes never leaving that parchment he held in his hands… She _had_ to follow him, if not for her own curiosity than for her duty as a Head to investigate any suspicious activity.

She had meant to turn back when they passed the stairway to Gryffindor Tower too, but she hadn't. It had been too tempting. It was her duty, she convinced herself and pushed forward, her duty. And then he'd gone outside in the middle of a rainstorm… well, if that wasn't questionable, she didn't quite know what was.

She'd stalked him out into the middle of a torrential downpour.

And she'd gotten caught too.

After a short while of walking he had disappeared behind a corner of the castle. She had waited a few moments before taking the same path, and he had trapped her against the wall the moment she did.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here. Following me, were you Evans?"

"No."

He raised both his eyebrows.

"It sure seemed like you were."

"Well, I wasn't, _okay?_"

"Do you take strolls in this kind of weather often then?" he said sarcastically.

"You were out here before I was, idiot."

"Really now?" he mocked her, "Who's the bigger idiot then: the one who walks out into the middle of a storm or the one who follows them for no reason?"

She remained silent, glaring at his chin.

"Unless," he pushed, "you do have a reason, Lily."

She contemplated giving him something about head duties, but shook her head instead.

"No reason."

He was closer to her than he had been before and she felt like crying. She hadn't meant to fall for him. She was a liar, even if only to herself, she had still lied. She loved his eyes, his hair, his jaw, his lips. Lily swallowed deeply and blinked her eyes close.

"Why won't you look me in the eye, pretty Lily?"

She felt his head dip so it was level with hers. His breath was so warm against the cold air. She couldn't think straight when it mingled with her own.

"Open your eyes for me, love."

And she did because she couldn't take it any longer and because he had asked her to.

Lily swooned.

His eyes were so bright… she felt her insides succumb to the heat that overtook her and was thankful once again for the wall supporting her. His hair was incorrigible. Soaked and sticking to his fair skin but somehow still wildly messy, even when wet. His lips were gorgeous up close, curved brilliantly, and so very close to her own.

He pressed his body closer to hers suddenly so they fit together perfectly and there was no longer any room left in between them. Lily shuddered at the new sensation that raced through her. Something was building in her that had never been there before.

She was painfully aware of his hand as it trailed its way up to cup the side of her face. The distance between their lips was growing smaller and smaller until… there wasn't any. Her heart soared in her chest, her stomach flipped tumultuously, and the rest of her body was on fire.

Her lips tingled as he grazed them slowly…once…twice… soft and undemanding. Her hands moved impatiently on their own accord from the wall, where they had lain helplessly during her capture, to his untamable hair and sifted within, forcing him to stop his torture and stay in one place. He let out an amused sound from his throat at her maneuver before obliging her demand to deepen their union.

And it was everything she had dreamt kissing him could be.

When he finally pulled back she was completely breathless but also utterly unsatisfied at the loss of contact. She tugged at his hair, trying to bring his face back to hers.

James just laughed and pulled back further, to her pure frustration.

"I will compromise my virtue no further until you agree to come to Hogsmead with me next weekend," he said, not completely able to hide his nervousness.

"Yes," she didn't even think twice. She didn't need to.

She kissed him then slid a hand down to cup his cheek and nearly grinned when his jaw tensed at the touch. Just like when they fought. He leaned into her touch, his breathing slightly erratic. She moved to kiss him again, but he stopped her.

"I need a moment, love, the bane of my youth has just been vanquished after all."

She laughed.

"James?"

"Mm, love?"

"How did you get this?" She moved her thumb over the scar on his lip, and he pressed a gossamer kiss to it.

"Quidditch."

She laughed again, how predictable.

It wasn't until a great amount of time later when they had finally separated and stepped away from the wall to head back to the castle, lips swollen, hair mussed, and arms intertwined, that James made a very shocking discovery.

"Lily!" he cried, averting his eyes.

"Mm?"

"You're wearing _white_."

"And…?"

"And it's raining!"

"Oh." She flushed violently.

"Here—you better take my cloak, you'll give Peter a heart attack."

Not really edited. And it could use some of those nifty fillers betas are so good at. If that's not a hint, I don't know what is… ;-).


End file.
